


Sacred

by Laura_Mayfair



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Banter, Community: bsg_kink, F/M, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:39:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: The President and the Vice President interpret a sacred text.Written for bsg-kink. Thank you to lanalucy for the irresistible prompt: "She wants to be reverent, he's just playing along. But then..."





	Sacred

# # #

  
Tom wasn’t sure how they’d gotten here, from discussing the afternoon’s meeting agenda and the flailing Fleet economy, to talking about Saggitaron’s primary religious text, but hey -- Laura was talking. He’d take it.

“The _Parnassus Scrolls_ are more practical than the _Book of Pythia_ , Laura. _Pythia_ is cryptic and poetic and mystical. _Parnassus_ talks about everything from how to best care for your crops, to making love, to fair bargaining practices…”

“Making love?” asked Laura, raising her head and looking a little less listless.

Tom looked up from his mess of notes and met her eyes. He nodded. “To fair bargaining practices.”

Laura hummed. “There’s a ritual they talk about in _Pythia_ that’s supposed to draw the favor of the gods. It mentions a special blessing but the ritual itself is absent. I wonder -- is it in the _Parnassus Scrolls_ , do you know?”

Tom would discuss the antiquated and hokey sex ritual, if it meant bringing Laura Roslin out of the apathetic coma she’d been in for weeks, as the search for Earth lengthened, as the numbers on her white board diminished.

“Yeah. The ritual is in there,” said Tom, warming not so much to the topic at hand, but to the fact that he had a captive audience. A very beautiful and specific captive audience. He’d never really had a lot of patience with religion.

But he sat down across from Laura and leaned in.

“It’s a little obscure. On Saggitaron, it became a folk festival. I think we were one of the last colonies that still had places that practiced it. Mostly in rural areas where they still honored the Eleusian mysteries. It gave people an excuse to frak. What free-wheeling hippie or religious zealot doesn’t like that?” He laughed.

“You have a copy of _The Parnassus Scrolls_ , don’t you, Tom?”

“Well — not on me, no. But it’s standard issue for every Saggitaron prisoner. I know exactly where I can get you a copy if that’s what you want.”

“Would you?” asked Laura.

“Of course, Madam President.” He watched, not without regret, as she pulled the veil back down on her expression and faded away again.

“Whatever you need.”

# # #

  
Tom had thought Laura's interest in the ancient rite stemmed from the natural curiosity of a leader who wanted to get to know the cultures of the people she governed. That was logical. Admirable, even.

But he soon learned that the President's keen interest in the ritual went beyond theoretical inquiry.

She wanted to perform it.

With _him._

Two weeks ago he would have been hard pressed to imagine a scenario where he wouldn’t want to frak the President. Well, he _did_ want to. Whom was he kidding? But maybe not, exactly, like this. In a different circumstance, it would have been flattering. But she was so keyed up about this, so anxious and preoccupied. Not that he blamed her. The woman carried the weight of thousands on her shoulders. She wasn’t just the leader of a people on the brink of extinction. She was a prophet, too, thanks to Elosha’s influence. Even Laura Roslin had to have a breaking point.

She was willing to frak a man for whom she only had lukewarm feelings if it might help in the search for Earth. It wasn’t exactly the reason he’d hoped might one day bring Laura to invite him to her bed. He suspected the pragmatic President had chosen him because of logistics and accessibility. He had no illusions that she cared about him and he didn’t think the offer sprang from raw desire either.

# # #

  
The room was lit with the dusky glow of what had to be nearly a hundred tea lights. She’d arranged them in a spiral, creating an exact replica of the diagram from _Parnassus_. The scent of weak incense floated through the air. Sandalwood. There was a shortage of even that.

She wore a blue silk robe. Her auburn hair fell wavy and loose down her shoulders, her feet were bare. No glasses. Tom doubted she was wearing anything under that flimsy robe and he felt a stab of arousal at the thought.

He cleared his throat. “I brought my own copy of _Parnassus_ ,” he said, giving the book a wave.

“Good,” said Laura. “I have an extra anyway. In case.”

“I don’t need it.”

She nodded. “You said that.”

There was an awkward pause.

Tom gestured toward her with a tilt of his head. “Looks like I’m overdressed.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket and began to loosen his tie.

“I can undress you after we read the prayers,” said Laura, almost too matter-of-factly, as she fidgeted with the sash of her robe.

Tom imagined Laura’s hands all over him, unbuttoning his shirt, pulling down the zipper of his pants, skimming those tapered fingertips over the bare skin she uncovered.

Gods. _Down boy._

“Shall we begin?”

“Let’s do it,” said Tom.

For once, he hadn’t actually meant the implied innuendo but it earned him a scalding look from Laura.

They began to read the opening prayers, as they’d practiced, in unison. Laura stumbled over the words that she’d read so smoothly just the other day.

She stopped reading and lowered the book. “I’m sorry. It’s just so dim with only the candlelight and I’m not wearing -- “

“Any underwear?” supplied Tom.

“My glasses,” she huffed. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

He could almost have sworn he saw her mouth twitch.

“I’m trying, really.”

Tom placed his book down on the bed and took one of her candles, careful not to disturb the spiral design, but reached for one of the extras instead.

“Come here.” He slipped an arm around Laura’s waist and drew her toward himself. Holding the candle just above the pages, he illuminated the text, and they finished the invocation together.

Laura leaned toward him and he moved in to kiss her, his mouth so close to hers that he felt the warmth of her breath against his lips. She stiffened and Tom pulled back.

“What is it, Laura?”

“All this. Gods.” She gestured toward the ceremonial candles, the room. “I must look so frakking desperate.”

“Look, Laura. I’m not a religious man and I won’t pretend that I get it but this means something to you.” He placed the candle down on the bedside table. ”And it can’t hurt.”

She gave him a wry smile. “You just want to get laid, Tom.”

People rarely got a chance to glimpse beneath the famed Laura Roslin armor. She’d allowed him to see her in an honest moment. He wanted to give her one in return.

“I wouldn’t mind spending a few hours with a beautiful, desirable woman. Particularly if that woman is you. Why don’t we put the books aside for now and see what happens? It’ll either be a night to remember or something that will add a whole new level of awkwardness to our next Quorum meeting.”

He grinned.

The next thing he knew, the President of the Twelve Colonies was in his arms.

She stood up on her toes, threw her arms around his shoulders, and hugged him. It was unexpected and spontaneous and...sweet. He wondered, as he held her, if maybe he was the one who was going to break. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had simply given him a hug.

“I bet you never thought your vice presidential duties would include frakking your boss,” Laura said softly.

“I’m just glad Baltar’s not the president.”

Laura looked at him head on and laughed. “You know, you’re not so terrible to have around in a crisis.”

“Wait. Did you just compliment me?”

“No. Maybe. It’s the wine talking.”

Tom let his gaze wander purposefully from her mouth to her eyes. “You didn’t have any wine.”

She shook her head. Tom felt her fingertips graze the back of his neck as she drew him closer. “I didn’t,” she admitted.

Their first kiss was a light peck but it led into another one and then another one after that, unfolding like a spiral dance. He kissed her neck, then the column of her throat. When he dipped the tip of his tongue into the groove of her collarbone, The _Scrolls of Parnassus_ hit the floor with a thud.

Laura tugged at his clothes with impatient hands. They fell into bed, rubbing against one another, skin to skin, the beginning of a rhythm. She draped a leg around his midsection and lifted her hips. He eased into her.

They moved together toward an inevitable crescendo.

She cried out when she came, the penultimate note of a chanted song. Tom lasted for a few more exquisite thrusts. Then he buried his face into the curve of her neck and spilled into her, like a benediction.


End file.
